I lie down on the cold floor of my house,
A house where I was born,
A home where I live,
A haven for me and my family.
Lying with my eyes half open, I look around,
I see the world in black and white almost.
I see black figures and white shadows,
I begin to wonder where I am.
Lying next to me, my mother, my baby brother,
I see we all are covered in soft, white, cotton sheets,
Perhaps Papa came in and covered us, lest we should feel cold.
It feels warm and nice to be in this warm place I call home.
Its been long now, I think its time for school,
I try to get up, but I can’t.
I try again, and I try in vain.
The white sheet is tied with a strong strong string, and me, I am trapped inside.
I cry out in fright, but mother does not move,
brother does not cry, A chill goes down my spine as I realise why.
It takes me a while to make my peace,
and now I just lie…
In a soft white cotton cloth
On the floor of my house
With my mother and baby brother
I have had to die… 
I wonder if I will make the 9 ‘0’ clock news,
Will people know my name or that I am good at art,
Will they know my happiness when brother was born?
I wonder if I will make the 9 ‘0’ clock news, I know Shahina’s family did!
As I lie here talking to you, what are you thinking?
Am I from Palestine, Israel, Kashmir, Iraq, Gujarat?
Would I have grown up to be a terrorist?
Would I have won the Nobel Prize?
The truth is stark, You will never know, nor will I!
From Outside The Mall 
Posted on August 10, 2006
0